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RAPE OF THE LOCK.
Not with more glories, in th' ethereal plain,
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main,
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams
Launch'd on the bosom of the silver Thames.
Fair nymphs, and well dress'd youths, around her shone,
But ev'ry eye was fix'd on her alone.
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
This nymph, to the destruction of mankind,
With hairy springes we the birds betray,
Th' advent'rous Baron the bright locks admir'd;